


You Are My Sunshine

by risquetendencies



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Arguing, Established Relationship, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Minor Injuries, Older Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4722842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risquetendencies/pseuds/risquetendencies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know, one of these days, Miyaji is just going to strap the helmet to his head permanently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are My Sunshine

Brown eyes drifted listlessly between a stack of files and a heavily-whirring laptop. The computer looked worn, an old and well-used model, the paint labeling some of the keys long since faded away. Nearby, two fingers tapped on the top of a wireless mouse, killing time as their owner contemplated what to type next.

Marketing proposals were a tedious task. Kiyoshi never knew if he'd said enough or too little to satisfy the higher-up's expectations, and generally his documents were a poor display of waffling. About the only thing keeping him going was the fact that after he got this crap over and done with, he'd be free to embark on his lunch break in peace.

One day, he was going to enjoy quitting this job. Alas, that day wasn't even close to soon.

Stretching his shoulders, he pushed himself back from his desk. Rolling them once vertical, he sighed in relief as the answering feeling of freedom burned through his muscles. The cubicles in his office were egregiously small, and sitting down for too long in there was practically like begging for a cramp to plague him. If he didn't get up at least once every other hour, he'd learned by experience that he could kiss any limberness that came naturally goodbye.

Being that he was only halfway through the week, he kind of wanted to avoid ruining any of his faculties.

Finally loosened up, Miyaji initiated his habitual trek toward the lounge, figuring that refilling his coffee was a respectable enough waste of a few minutes. One that he'd be using for the third time this morning, but who was counting?

Frankly, even slacking off in the manner he was probably made him look more productive than being glued to his computer screen like some of his frivolous neighbors. Like he was on a mission, or something. If he really grew desperate for a new excuse, there was always feigning exhaustion in the form of a face-first plunge into his keyboard. He hadn't tried that one yet, but it sounded intriguing. 

 _Bzzt. Bzzt_.

Vaguely digging through his pocket, his fingers tugged his phone from within, leisurely raising it to the level of his ear and accepting the call.

"Is this Miyaji Kiyoshi-san?"

"Yeah, that's me," he responded flippantly, leaning his weight against the nearest wall and wondering if he'd dig into his stash of specialty creamer for this cup.

"Good afternoon, sir, I work at Gondou Hospital, and I'm calling on behalf of Hayama Kotarou-san. You were listed as his emergency contact."

Scrunching his nose at the statement, the blond then wracked his brain, trying to recall where his other half had trundled off to that morning in the hope that he could guess what might've transpired. Kotarou's schedule was nothing compared to how much he worked, courtesy of being yet another pampered offspring that had graduated out of Rakuzan High without doing anything to get disowned.

It pissed him off when he really stopped to think about it, but conversely, there was no way he'd ever accept the offer of letting himself be provided for on Kotarou's father's money. The mere thought was enough to make him disgusted.

He might not have liked what he was doing right now, but it was better than being a dependent of someone who was already essentially a freeloader. Working a few days a month was meeting the bare minimum; he wanted a proper career for himself. For now he had to accept the job he was at. It was paying his way through college part-time and for that reason alone it served.

But back to that morning.

Miyaji had woken up first and had summarily been accosted by his pajama-clad lover on his way out the door, tugged into a farewell kiss with more teeth than lips clashing together. After that, the boy had let him know where he was planning on going which was... In a flash, he had the answer. It was the skate park, not that he should've been surprised. The venue was a common haunt for his adventurous personal demon.

"What, did he need stitches or something?" he queried into the phone. It wouldn't be the first time that was the case.

"If you're available, I think it's best if you come and sit with him."

A shiver coursed down his spine at the response, attitude rapidly shifting to one of actual concern. It was about then that he began to balk at his own stupidity.

If was only something as minor as stitches, Kotarou would have gotten them put in and headed home by himself. He was independent-minded, and he probably wouldn't have bothered calling Kiyoshi, let alone at work, to let him know about such an incident. The fact that someone else was calling for him only meant that whatever had happened was direr than he'd previously imagined.

"What happened?" he uttered gravely.

"We can fill you in on all the details when you get here."

"You can't tell me anything now?" he pressed, tone colored through with frustration. "At least let me know what I'm going to be walking into! Is he all right or not?"

"It would be better if we talked about it when you arrive. Are you able to come or should we call the next contact listed in his file?"

"Don't. I'll get out of work somehow," he retorted snappily, thinking that he'd very much like to meet the moron who dared dance around the issue like this. If they were the one who filled him in once he got his tail over to the hospital, he couldn't be certain of how he'd react. It sort of depended on how bad the situation was, considering the way they were avoiding the topic made him think it had to be severe.

All he knew was there was no chance in hell he'd be slinking back into the office that day.

 

* * *

 

"Thanks, Kimura."

Kiyoshi hefted a weary sigh, glancing out the window. The light from the day was fading, giving rise to early evening and its somber palette. Hours had passed, but the situation wasn't much changed. Talking to his friend had given him something to fill that empty stretch, but it hadn't solved anything really. Talking couldn't solve what his problem was now.

"Want me to bring you something for dinner? It's not a long trip over there from my place," Shinsuke offered, voice purposefully casual.

"Nah. Eating crappy hospital food is all a part of the experience, I guess. Wouldn't want to miss out on that," he replied acerbically.

"If you say so... Well, if you change your mind, or need anything else, go ahead and call. I won't be as pissed if you wake me up as I am normally, considering what's going on."

"Generous," he snorted, toying with the hem of his sleeve.

Trying to act normal was marginally easier over the phone, but if he was being honest, he almost wished Kimura was there in person. Or anyone who would set him straight and quash every one of his irrational worries; the nursing staff weren't doing a stellar job of that with their erratic trips into the room and pitying looks thrown his way.

Miyaji refused to admit it out loud, but he was panicking. Regardless of the facts, or that the doctor had said Kotarou would only need to rest and take it easy, just the idea that he was laying in a hospital bed was wreaking havoc on his nerves.

"Don't you forget that," the other male responded, "you can pay me back later. Maybe get a nap in for now while he's out, or something. Better that then up and chewing your nails."

"I don't do that," he parried, eying his own hand critically. Sure enough, the cuticles were in respectable enough order for any man, Midorima and his manicure set be damned. "Besides, just wait, that's what will do the trick. I try to nap and he'll be awake two seconds later because when the hell do I ever get to sleep in peace?"

"Not sure I want to give that too much thought."

"Believe me, neither do I."

Deciding the conversation had served its purpose, Miyaji disconnected the call after an abridged parting and replaced the phone into one of his pockets. His hands sought for his face, surprising him at how shaky they were.

He wasn’t that worried, was he? Weaving his fingers through his hair, he attempted to calm himself, but it only succeeded in worsening the problem when he realized how unraveled about the situation he truly was. The fact that he couldn't distract himself was a clear enough indication.

Growling shortly under his breath, Kiyoshi turned away from the windows.

' _What are you doing?_ ' he interrogated inwardly, gripping the fabric of his jeans to give his twitching hands something stronger to cling to. 

Before he spiraled even further down the well of panic, he needed to convince himself that there was nothing to fear when he assessed the situation realistically. Why was he even sweating this to begin with? Plenty of his friends, coworkers, hell even family members had been in accidents before. Shit happened from time to time in life, but that was no excuse for his unhinged display.

Kotarou was always getting himself into scrapes. He had no concept of when enough was enough, and rather than sitting back and calculating the risks he took, he lunged head first into everything he did. Partly for the adrenaline-inducing thrill of being spontaneous, but also because his judgment was skewed. He rarely pondered the consequences that could come afterward, and unsurprisingly, this had led to a stream of incidents even over the few years they had been together.

This was far from the first time Miyaji had witnessed him in this state, but it was probably the most serious example. 

An injury he might not fully recover from.

Shaking off the insidious notion, he allowed his trademark sneer to line his lips. When had he started being so melodramatic? Especially over a reckless brat who was the primary bane of his existence? He could almost kick himself because there was no need for him to feel the way he did now. Nothing about this was actually serious. It was a minor mishap, and in a few days Kotarou would be up and running around like normal. Right until the next incident, rinse and repeat.

Hissing, Kiyoshi ground one foot against the floor to excise more of his nervous energy. Trust his damn brain to not leave well enough alone, but he was growing weary of the circular, anxiety-ridden thoughts dominating his inner monologue. Yet they kept lapping because of one point.

Whether he wanted the responsibility of it or not, Kotarou's well being had long since placed a burden on his heart.

He brushed the musings aside and returned his attention to the motionless figure on the bed.

Gazing at him, Miyaji could hardly muster up the vitriol to shape a frown. Everything about the sight was entirely unlike Kotarou. Quiet, inert - a contradiction to his usual jaunty, hyper self. Ultimately that was the most distressing detail for him, particularly when he knew the guy inside and out.

"You really fucked up big this time, moron." He'd meant to state the obvious more guardedly, but now that it was out, he halfway hoped it would be enough to lure the boy from his medicine-induced slumber.

After all, that was how they typically interacted. Perhaps the familiarity would rouse him.

Despite the swirl of emotions twisting up his gut, it would push him too far out of his comfort zone to let those feelings come to the surface. As the evening wore on however, it became harder to keep a lid on everything.

It wasn't that he didn't care for Hayama - if anything, he cared far too much for his own liking - but he wanted to keep that factoid to himself.

Up until tonight, he'd been fairly masterful at never exposing his sentimental side. So much so that it was one of the myriad topics they fought over. Kotarou tended to bow to his opinion in most things if he rebelled against a suggestion, but occasionally he would stand his ground. Several times over the course of their relationship he'd interrogated him over why he never acted more impassioned about them. Why any affectionate words or deeds were far and few in between.

It also wasn't like he'd never revealed his true feelings, but much as he hated to admit it, his other half had a point. He was stingy, but he had his reasons. Of course, given the situation they were engaged in now, Miyaji couldn't help but to feel like a prick. More than ever, what he needed was him to wake up so he'd have a chance to explain. He owed him the truth. Actually going through with telling him was another matter, but he'd attempt to.

Preoccupied by his plan, he almost failed to notice the sheets had begun to rustle.

Snapping from his daze, he zoned in on the bed where Hayama was fidgeting, visage jumbled as though he was experiencing a large dose of discomfort. Still, he continued to squirm towards full consciousness until his eyes were open to greet reality once again.

"M-Miyaji-san," the boy murmured, eyelids fluttering as if adjusting to the darkness of the room he'd awakened to.

Staring at him in shock, the blond was mute, uncertain of how to react now that the moment he'd been gunning for had finally arrived. Relief? Anger? Was it the right thing to go to him and hold him close, or knock him upside the head before anything else transpired? Kiyoshi wasn't sure. Both impulses were nudging at him fairly equally about then.

"Miyaji-san?" Kotarou questioned, voice more steady the second time. He sounded puzzled about why he wasn't being responded to.

"Yeah, I'm here," he deigned finally. Still, he remained seated where he was. He didn't trust himself to go over there just yet.

The cacophony of blankets being disturbed resounded as Kotarou next tried to scramble his way vertical. Miyaji rolled his eyes at the thought. Even when he first woke up, bruised from head to toe, and tethered to countless monitors, he was acting restless. It heartened him to see some semblance of his normal behavior, but at the same time, he didn’t want him to exacerbate his injuries. Laying down was the best remedy right now.

“Miyaji-san, what happened?” His confused tone caused Miyaji's heart to swell painfully. “Why are we here?”

He scoffed, but regardless it took him a moment to remember how to speak. All of the nightmarish scenarios he'd let consume him had been stirred back to the surface of his mind at that weakened voice. In a stream of chaotic flashes, he relived them, any intelligent thought dying in his throat before it could be born aloud. ' _He's fine,_ ' he forcibly reminded himself, ' _Just say what you want to say and be done with it. It was his own fault, and he can't keep doing this crap!_ '

“You mean why are  _you_ here? Your dumb ass fell off your skateboard, and you got a concussion.” A vein appeared in his forehead. It was Hayama’s recklessness that got him tangled into this debacle in the first place. “Haven’t you ever heard of wearing a fucking helmet?!”

What had been meant to be scathing, came out the complete opposite.

Kiyoshi cursed bitterly how wobbly his voice seemed, his eyes watering in yet another damnable turn of events. This was the last thing he needed. But hell, he couldn’t be more relieved that Kotarou was active again, rather than lying there like an invalid. At the same time, his ire was chiming in, reminding him why he was angered by the situation in the first place. It was no wonder he wasn't able to shore up his emotions better.

He turned away to dab his sleeve against the unbidden tears that had already fallen, but halted when the sound of movement echoed behind him. Curious to what the other was doing, he quickly revolved, only to discover his idiot lover making yet another impulsive decision.

"Don't get out of bed, moron! You're all hooked up and shit! You got hurt bad enough to end up here, so at least fucking take a rest!"

"But you're sad," he uttered mournfully, jade eyes narrowing further with what approached contemplation. "It's because of me, isn't it? I made you cry, Miyaji-san, and I don't like that. I only want to see you crying in ecstasy..." he trailed off, a woeful cast adorning his face.

His words however, woke Kiyoshi from the brief moment of insanity where he'd let his ridiculous feelings take charge. 

Stomping over to Hayama's bedside, he anchored his palm flat against the boy's head, gripping the top, and began to rattle it in retribution.

"What exactly do you think you're saying?!" he hissed, ignoring the flush rapidly spreading across his face. "Do you have a filter? At all?!"

"Oww, oww.... I don't think you're supposed to do that, Miyaji-san..." Kotarou whined, dodging the next vigorous pat aimed his way.

"...Right," he answered stupidly, the thought just dawning on him.

Heaving an aggravated sigh, Kiyoshi lowered his hand in submission, trying his best to nudge aside the guilt now prickling in his gut. He wasn't some caretaker, and yes, maybe he should have thought about that facet of things but sometimes, Hayama said things that made him want to seal the kid's mouth shut, they were that embarrassing.

"Sorry," he mumbled, averting his gaze.

Tentatively he took a seat at the edge of the bed, facing away from him. Even so, he could feel his energy exuding outward beside him, the warm glow that surrounded him wherever he went. It was unavoidable, no matter how badly he wished he could make himself invisible to all of it. 

Entrenched in his one man pity-party, Miyaji didn't notice anything had changed until arms were slung around his neck, Hayamahugging him tightly from behind. No longer bristling, he decided to indulge in the comfort, sitting perfectly still as the younger held on tenaciously. Odd though it was, the longer the silence between them lasted, the more his heart pounded ardently to fill the gap.

Unconsciously, his hand crept upward, reaching back at an awkward angle to grab at one of his lover's hands. Kotarou's fingers latched on, squeezing the soft part of his palm. Miyaji gusted out another huff of air and felt the furrow between his brows growing deeper.

"Yeah, I cried," he confirmed, voice rough, "Because you did something stupid and I wasn't sure if you were going to come home to me."

Hayama gradually absorbed the confession before his lips twisted into a wide smile."I'm gonna be totally fine, so no worries!" he promised, unintentionally stepping on the landmine that had been waiting to explode the entire evening.

"Like I fucking knew that when they called me!" He released his grip to rub at his swollen eyes, practically feeling the frown he knew was working itself across Kotarou's face. The arms around him tightened, persuading him to continue his retell.

"All I knew was that you'd hurt yourself, but not how badly." Pausing once more, Miyaji shoved aside the lingering anger from that time, and rolled his next words around his tongue, knowing he had to break it down so that his ultimate point was clear. If he could manage that feat without coming off as the blithering fool he'd proclaimed himself, it would be half a miracle.

"They wouldn't tell me your condition over the phone, so obviously I'm going to think something really messed up happened. And seeing you like you were when I came in, before someone filled me in on what the hell was wrong, I thought you weren't going to wake up."

"You came here from work?" His words were muffled, mouth pressed into the valley between his shoulder blades, but Miyaji was surprised at how calm they were.

"Obviously you're the one who signed me up to be your emergency contact. What did you think would happen if you got into trouble?" he groused quietly, a filler statement as he waited for Kotarou to get around to what he was intending on saying.

"Hmm, I wonder."

"You wonder what?" Quirking a brow at the nonchalant words, he continued to steady himself.

"Reo-nee was it before you. After Mom got married again and moved away. He said I could count on him, so--" he paused, jostling Miyaji's shoulder as he shifted position to burrow against the crook of his neck. "And he always came when I got patched up or sick or whatever. He makes the best soup! Anyway I wasn't sure if you'd come if I made you my person to call but you did, so I'm really, super happy."

Kiyoshi laughed curtly, a little color stealthily conquering his face.

"Why am I not surprised it was that guy? Actually I'm surprised he's not banging down the door now."

Rather than taking the bait of his off-the-cuff remark, Kotarou opted to nuzzle him further, lips humming softly against his bare skin. It was suitably distracting, whisking away whatever he'd had queued up to comment on this new revelation. Faintly responding to the stimuli, his mind was understandably fuzzy as he processed the impending words.

"It's okay, because I can have Miyaji-san to myself."

Everything filtered slowly through his brain, and by the time he caught up, his tone was muddled, the touches having lulled him into a quiescent state.

"...Wait, you didn't think I'd show up?"

"You said work's important so you don't wanna be bothered when you're there," Hayama answered simply, brushing aside his hair to access the nape of his neck.

Blinking, Kiyoshi felt his consciousness begin to solidify once more, the response jolting him out of whatever trance he'd been mired in.

He didn't think he'd come if he got hurt? Why bother listing him as the contact then? His logic made no sense, and worst of all, his opinion showed as clear as day. Kotarou didn't think he cared about him enough to be there when he needed him. And he seemed prepared to accept that reality rather than trying to change it, or demand better. Taking it all in, Miyaji's only conclusion was that he'd been a complete asshole. 

Sooner rather than later, he needed to set the record straight. Before he could get that point across though, he wanted to try and understand why Kotarou acted how he did. Probably a futile effort, but he'd try.

"Turn around, I wanna kiss you."

Mind made up, he reeled around, giving his other half a gentle shove back into the pillows. 

"Cool it. You're not off the hook yet. All this stuff," he gestured around the room, "happened because you were careless. Because you're always this careless. Why the hell don't you ever wear a helmet? I know you have like five of the things, so dust one off for fuck's sake!"

All he got in return was an affronted stare before Hayama conceded, settling underneath the mound of blankets covering him. He made no move to answer, however, so Miyaji tried once more to prompt him. There wasn't a chance in hell he was about to leave the subject alone.

"Well?"

"I don't know," he griped, "it takes time to dig out of storage, and I don't wanna deal with that. Besides, it's annoying to wear one and just feels weird. So I mainly don't."

"You won't take five minutes to find one so you don't end up in the hospital?!"

Kotarou raised a brow, the nonchalance in his expression veering toward irritation.

"Just because I don't wear one doesn't mean anything's gonna happen," he stated arrogantly, gaze seeming to challenge him. "I go skateboarding all the time and nothing happens. I'm good, so I don't fall a lot."

Miyaji felt his eye twitch. How ignorant was this brat? He was acting as though he wasn’t in the hospital with a shit ton of wires attached to him! Was this whole matter, one that had managed to shock _him_ to his very core, that much of a joke to him?

“No,” he hissed, “but if anything did, your blood wouldn’t be decorating the sidewalk!”

Quickly losing the war with patience, he began to unload a string of obscenities, fists clenched at his sides. He then rose from his settled position and began to pace the ashen tiles. What was so difficult about understanding the rules of safety? Who gave a shit if he'd done it before accruing without any serious injuries? The point was he had done it and had received something other than a few scrapes and bruises.

Why was it so hard for him to comprehend that something even more serious, possibly fatal could happen next time?

“I’m not gonna do it.” He could feel the vein pulse in his forehead once again at the lunacy running amok in this conversation. “So don’t be annoying and tell me what I’m gonna do.”

His last shred of patience fled, and Miyaji stalked back to the bed to lean over the immobile blond. Enveloped in a cloud of concern and anger, he failed to recall why exactly Kotarou was in that bed and grabbed a handful of the gown he was sporting to yank him closer.

“All you complain about is I’m not cuteenough, or that I don’t say sappy shit, but if you'd put your last two goddamn brain cells together, you’d realize I’m pissed because I care about you, you fucking jerk!” He ignored the wide eyed stare beneath and continued to claw at the other’s shirt. “You don’t want me to be sad? Don’t want me to nag you? Then fucking take care of yourself!”

Hayama blinked but shoved aside his shock to place a hand on the one gripping him so tightly.

“But I do take care of myself, Miyaji-san. I told you that-”

“You keep making the same excuses! If you took care of yourself, you wouldn’t be here, now would you?!”

Kiyoshi released the material to step back and collect himself. Massaging his throbbing temples, he could feel the headache that had long since pained him fostering into a full blown migraine. How could he spell it out to him without shining a spotlight on what he was truly feeling?

"I'm fine, anyway. I'll be home in no time!"

Casting a baleful look Hayama's direction, Miyaji tried to dredge up what exactly it was he'd seen in him originally.

Then again, it wasn't like he'd had much choice in them getting together - Kotarou had wormed his way into his life by a sheer refusal to surrender despite how many times he'd been rejected. Contacting him over and over, he'd slowly forced down his guard until he had taken him seriously. Until he'd started to wonder what it was about himself that was so goddamn sirenic to the younger male that he kept coming back. Until finally, he actually believed that he had those good qualities where he'd never been able to admit that before. And in the end, he'd grown to crave that assurance being fed his way.

Fuck, he was pathetic, wasn't he?

As reluctant as he'd been about their relationship in the beginning though, if he mulled everything over, he wouldn't change his decision. And honestly, he wasn't ready to give it all up either.

Preserving the sour expression on his face, Kiyoshi reprised his earlier position, perching himself on the edge of the bed. He gathered all his air, inhaling deeply to imbue himself with a measure of calm before he proceeded. Saying what he wanted wasn't going to be easy, and he'd probably fail, but maybe the message would be clear enough.

"I'm not trying to annoy you," he stressed in an even tone, "I'm saying it because...." Glancing upwards, he accidentally locked onto the intrigued eyes surveying him, and just as rapidly, he avoided them, jerking his head away and attempting not to stumble in his delivery.  

"If you're not going to think about yourself, do it for the people who," he gritted the next word through clenched teeth, "l-love you."

Tilting his head to one side, Hayama seemed to ponder his admission.

"Reo-nee and Eikichi yell at me sometimes, but they don't stay mad... I don't think Dad notices, or my sisters," he rattled off slowly, the lumbering pace of his response only magnifying the frustration brewing within him.

Miyaji could feel his teeth grinding together, the enamel becoming worn with how hard he was pressuring them. Clenching his fist at his side, he lost the war with his patience, his final nerve fraying. 

"I was talking about me!" he shouted, chest heaving from the impact. "Are you really that dumb?!"

Hayama's face only supported the accusation, jade orbs blown wide with surprise and jaw lowered.

And in a flash, that combination was usurped by a look of determination, his other half springing forward to crash into his chest. Before he could mutter a word in edgewise, his ability was silenced by the barrier of Kotarou jammed up against him, both hands gripping the back of his head with an iron tenacity. He did nothing but remain in place until Miyaji wrangled his way free, desperately seeking the oxygen to reprimand him.

"What the fuck was that?!" he snarled, eying Kotarou's elevated hands with a slant of suspicion.

The younger didn’t seem fazed by the sudden outburst, knees bent against the mattress as he continued to advance as much as permitted. Each time Kiyoshi scooted away, he would inch closer. Closer until neither of them could go any further. His hands shot out in front of him, earning him an irritated yet wary glance.

“What are you trying to do? You’re going to make me fall off the damn bed!”

“I gotta,” he insisted hastily, reaching for him a second time.

Lips collided off-kilter with his own, stunning him into inertia before they attacked again, this time sliding home with flawless accuracy. Nothing about it was gentle, but he felt strangely at peace during, their mouths joining together in a fervid and familiar rhythm. Mere moments later, he found himself giving up on putting a stop to it, melting instead under the caress of Kotarou’s fingers against his scalp.

Innumerable seconds flowed by without notice, the only hints of time having passed the shift of their hands, the way his body lurched forward so that it was easier to lean down to reach him, or the occasional slick sound that reverberated when they pulled back for air.

Or when Kotarou severed their link completely, eyes bright with self-satisfaction. On impulse, he glared across at him, daring him to make a smartass remark about getting a rise out of him when he’d sucked on his tongue. He’d been gasping for breath obviously, nothing as lame as moaning, and he intended on enforcing that version of events if necessary.

“What?” he initiated, letting a little steel weave its way into the utterance.

"Your name. I wanna use it now, so can I?"

Unfortunately, that wasn’t a request he couldn’t pretend not to comprehend. Not when in the weeks up until then, it had been a frequent source of debate for them.

Bracing himself, Miyaji mulled it over for a minute before reaching some sort of internal compromise with his pride. "Don't skip the -san and I guess I'll allow it," he returned hoarsely.

Hayama stared him straight on, and the silence, which lasted only an instant, multiplied and coated itself in suspense. His breathing slowed in anticipation, waiting to hear just how screwed he really was for giving into that request. The following appellation didn't disappoint him in how it managed to wreck his carefully crafted facade.

"Kiyoshi-san."

His voice was light yet confident as he tested the newly-minted address. Miyaji's lip twitched with a defensive scowl, but he grudgingly let him have the floor. Already, it was abundantly clear that no matter how he protested, his lover would see through that front, or charge right through it unawares, until no more barriers loomed between them. 

"I love you lots, Kiyoshi-san," Kotarou chirped next, lips curving into an arc so broad it eclipsed everything else. "Thanks for worrying about me."

Smarting a bit from the sugary declarations, he pressed a hand to the center of Hayama's chest, bolstering the gap between them. His heart decided to mutiny, thundering up a storm to match his rollercoaster pulse. For the second time that evening, he felt unstable, like he was the puppet and the man across from him the one who was tugging on the strings to guide him. 

"Don't abuse that privilege," he warned, willing himself to calm down.

The younger smiled instead, leaning in against the barrier to worm his way into the intervening space. Hands claimed a spot on either side of Miyaji's jaw, locking in him place with their faces mere inches apart. "Kiyoshi-san," he repeated softly, causing an indignant flush to rise up to join his other rapidly failing reactions.

As if it wasn't bad enough, the next sensation was that of Kotarou's lips darting around, ghosting fleeting kisses over the bridge of his nose and each cheek. The quick brushes were overly saccharine in reality, but at least one part of him seemed not to agree, the urge to increase their connection growing with each one bestowed.

At that moment, he hardly even felt like cursing his weakness. What he wanted was right there for him to take, so he would.

Hunching over, he renewed their bond, cozying his lips against Kotarou's.

A frisson greeted him instantly, the yearning within him intensifying as the seconds ticked by. In the periphery he felt Kotarou's hands slide down, cupping his waist before prying further, venturing beneath his shirt to grasp his bare skin.

Leaning back to echo a shaky breath, his gaze drifted downward, knowing all too well he lacked the conviction to meet his lover's eyes then. His heart was throbbing jaggedly, and his thoughts were hopelessly scattered. If he looked, his condition would only plummet.

"Kiyoshi-san."

"Are you just going to keep saying that?!" Miyaji snapped, albeit halfheartedly. "Give it a rest!"

"Say my name too," he entreated him. 

Was that the only solution that was going to put a halt to this sentimental drivel? Frankly, Miyaji was worried that should he capitulate, that would only encourage him to prolong the embarrassing banter, and he wanted nothing more than to bolt out of the room if that was what the future held. He'd already humiliated himself enough acting like a complete worrywart over a non-threatening injury.

Hell, and it wasn't that he didn't care. Deep down he knew that for how regularly they clashed, Kotarou had long since become essential to him. It was just when he thought of being more open, that same question surfaced. If he gave more of himself to the relationship, what would Kotarou come to expect from him? He was never going to be some lovey-dovey fool constantly spouting off doting phrases or calling him cutesy pet names like some people seemed to revel in. That wasn't him and it never would be.

Maybe if he believed there wouldn't be additional pressure on him, it would be easier to open up to him about things. He actually wanted that, because facing someone so straightforward made him feel like a coward for not awarding him the same bluntness in return. When he thought about him, he was already Kotarou in his head - was it the end of the world to occasionally call him that too?

"Let's make a deal."

Hayama's face scrunched slightly, but he fell silent, waiting for him to explain further.

"Fuck... can you not... use my name all the time yet?"

"What, like in public?"

"Yeah, that would be a start."

He wanted to retract the offer completely out of embarrassment, but he wouldn't dare follow through on the impulse. He didn't hate it, after all, and despite how small a gesture it boiled down to, it was obvious how pleased Kotarou was to be given permission. He couldn't steal that joy away from him - he wasn't that selfish.

"Are you gonna use mine when we're not in public?"

"I'll try." His response was clipped, but he was willing to stand by it.

Hayama's hands curled around him as if in consideration. "Miyaji-san," he huffed, "I don't have to call you that."

"Excuse me? You just said you wanted to, you've been saying that for goddamn ever!" **  
**

"I wanna use the name that makes you smile, not me. If you don't want me using that one, it's fine."

The final word ignited something in him, and subsequently he found himself shaking his head. "It's  _not_ fine," he emphasized. "Don't give up on using it just because I don't seem thrilled about it. If I didn't want you to do it ever, I wouldn't have agreed. I have to get used to hearing it, and eventually... I will. So don't lie and say it's okay."

Checking to ensure he had the other's attention, Miyaji swung around to the point he'd been trying to articulate all evening.

"What I want is you to care about yourself more, because you definitely don't now. It doesn't matter what motivates you, but wear a goddamn helmet. Don't automatically give into whatever I say, and shit," he harped, a second later realizing his last principle. "Except that one. You need to fucking wear one, or I'll personally nail it to your head next time. Got that?"

Hayama graced him with a small, yet surprisingly understanding smile. 

“Okay," he declared, "I’ll do it for you, Kiyoshi-san.”

Falling straight into line wasn't the reaction he'd expected but it was gratifying hearing him agree to be more careful. Time would tell how long that obedience lasted, but that was all Miyaji could reasonably ask of him right now. Then again, there was no harm in dangling a little incentive in front of him to seal the deal.

"If you do that, I'll try to be more..." he cringed, despising the revolting adjectives his brain put forth. Amicable? Loving? That's what he meant, but something in him reviled saying such words aloud. "I'll use your name, and stuff," he promised, noting Hayama watching him with rapt attention.

Miyaji paused when he realized it was quiet apart from the blank stare he was receiving. The awkward silence between them was deafening, and he wasn't sure of its origin. Did he say something that threw him off, or was he tiring of this debate as much as he was?

But then, truth smacked him in the face.

He'd just assured Hayama he would call him by his name, and more than likely he was waiting for proof. Fuck, sometimes he rambled too much, and he wanted to kick himself for ever suggesting that, because now sidestepping that gesture wasn't an option. The spotlight was firmly planted on him and he had to deliver whether he was entirely ready or not.  

"Kotarou."

It was indescribably odd, hearing it aloud rather than in his head as he'd known it previously. His mind raked over the syllables, processing how each one sounded. For a moment he could hardly believe it had sprung from him so smoothly, given his diehard reluctance in uttering it. But what was more disconcerting was the little spark of heat that illuminated within him at saying his name, the intimacy of it apparently enlivening him. Miyaji shook his head in the instant after, thoroughly disgusted with himself. The situation was getting way out of hand, and if he didn't rein himself in better, he wasn't sure he wanted to find out what sap would pour out of him next.

"I hope you heard that because I'm not saying it every single time," he muttered warningly. He shifted his gaze to the side, and came into contact with an alarming spectacle.

Where not even a second ago, Hayama's expression had held only blunt interest, it had transformed into one of intense glee.

Drinking in the vantage, he felt oddly benevolent, deciding to hold off on complaining further.

"I bet I know where I could make you say it again."

Miyaji sensed his temper elevating, but before he could retort, his cheeks beat him to the punch. He cursed silently at the heat that flooded his skin, shading them a rose hue. Quickly he cursed it away, hoping the other hadn't noticed, even though he knew nothing escaped Hayama's radar when it came to him being flustered. The brat had a knack for being observant at all the wrong moments, and this undoubtedly would be another such case.

"You'd better not be talking about what I think you are," he growled. 

"Oh, and what's that?" 

How cheeky could he get for someone who was suffering a concussion? Here he was supposed to be resting, and he was making lewd overtures at him! Granted the position they were lodged in wasn't helping matters and was ambushing his own imagination with unwanted scenarios, but this was beyond inappropriate. He wasn't about to encourage him by naming the topic directly.

"You're thinking of... that."

The craftiness in his lover's voice didn't wane any. "That what?"

"I'm not saying another fucking word!" Frustration burst from him in droves, amplifying the menacing aura in the room. "You know what the hell I'm talking about! You're just pretending not to!"

Then, as rapidly as it appeared, Hayama's grin dulled, watering down to a more innocent composition. His next words were provoking, leaving Miyaji yearning to annihilate him until not a shred of evidence remained.

"No, I don't," he asserted casually, "I was talking about on the court."

 _Bullshit_. Miyaji immediately balked. Had he just been had? The bastard was already aggravating him, but now he was going to toy with him on top of that? Point aside, there was no way he was going to allow the use of his name out in the eye of the public. Especially on the basketball court amongst his friends. The last thing he needed was them to witness Hayama orbiting around him, constantly chirping his name like some sort of manic baby bird and draw any conclusions about the nature of their relationship.

"Ha, that's definitely out." Nothing could be further from his list of to-do's than to be exposed in such a sloppy way.

"Why? No one's gonna care, if we're even playing with other people anyway. What about when I beat you, will you let me use it then?"

He could feel the wrath once more bubbling inside him. Eye twitching, Miyaji felt his lips fumble a few times before they formed a scowl. Where did this kid get off thinking he was going to best him? What an arrogant piece of shit he could be at times, but unfortunately he had one factor going for him.

Disrespectful as he was, Hayama had played for an elite team, and even after graduating he hadn't slowed down. Fundamentally he was on a different level from someone like him; there was no competition when they faced off. Then again, he'd been improving in their recent one on ones, so the outcome could be reversed. He had to believe in that possibility. Either way, he wasn’t about to let the kid run his mouth unchecked.

"In what universe do you think you're going to beat me, brat?" the elder smirked, though he could feel his fury churning inches below the surface.

Hayama granted him with a sly grin, though he also caught the cockiness behind it. "Only every single one." He then paused as a sudden thought encased him. “Well, I _did_ have to use four fingers last game, but I'm still gonna win. Every time." **  
**

Why hadn't he punched him already? There was a good reason for that lapse in judgement, right?

His hands blazed forward of their own accord, desiring nothing more than to rearrange the features that were showering him with amusement. He'd reached his limit with how much he was being teased, small as that limit was, and now it was time for retribution.

But his fingertips met with air, Hayama dodging to the side at the last instant. Before he could readjust, an arm looped around his neck and then they were falling together, the younger tugging him down to his level on the bed.

Laying in a jumbled mess of limbs, Miyaji fumed, soon realizing his route for escape was slim to none with how he was being held.

Staring at his captor, he was greeted by lips brushing his forehead, right before his other half let loose a chuckle. That proved to be the final straw. Exhaling harshly, he tried to let the venom drain from his interior, resigning himself to losing this round of their argument. Clearly Kotarou had already jumped onto the next thing on his mind, which apparently was tormenting him with his affection as per usual.

"It's okay, I like playing with you the best, Kiyoshi-san. Let's do it as soon as I get out of here, 'kay?"

Childish was sometimes an understatement when it came to Hayama. Once in a blue moon, the heavens would part and he'd show a more competent facet, but that was the essence of who he truly was. And this far into their relationship, he understood that, dealt with it in so far as someone like him could.

Which probably wasn't saying much because it took approximately nothing to trigger his temper. Combine that with Kotarou's love of messing with him, or ticking him off unintentionally, and they had numerous run-ins. Even so, sometimes, Miyaji found himself revelling in their banter. He'd stop for a minute and realize he was smiling, or laughing with him, and rather than be embarrassed, he took it in stride. Few people managed to bring out that stupid, simplistic joy in him like Hayama did. **  
**

"Yeah, okay. Hope you're ready to lose... Kotarou." 

Going a few more rounds with him didn't sound unappealing.

**Author's Note:**

> -sighs- 
> 
> In writing this I somehow left with more headcanons than I came in with. Even so, I'm happy I finally wrote this piece because it's one I've been wanting to do for a long time, and particularly I wanted to write more HayaMiya. They're rare but I absolutely adore this ship. ♥ 
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts on the story, and thanks for reading!


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